


Bachelor

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bachelor Auction, Character Study, Humor, M/M, Poor Will (but not for the usual reasons)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will gets roped into being bid on at a bachelor auction. Hannibal is in attendance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bachelor

Will kept his laptop with him at all times, carried it back and forth between home and Quantico every day, but he never used it outside of his classroom. He had no desire to, not when he had his books and his dogs and his projects at home to occupy him. And so over time, the laptop filled up with photographs of horrific crime scenes and emailed papers from students on the gruesome minutiae of forensic psychology, and this cemented its status as an object that served a specific, necessary purpose but from which he derived no joy. Thus, it was only ever open in this classroom; he refused to spoil the sanctity of his home by preparing lectures with it there. 

This made for some late nights at the office. He was assembling a slideshow for the following day’s lecture, based on some new evidence that had just come to light in an ongoing serial child abduction case that had been terrifying parents from Charleston to Atlanta for the last several months. So far there was no proof that any of the children were dead, but what had been left behind in their beds for their parents to find guaranteed that, even if they survived, none of these children would ever be the same again. 

Will saw the blur of Emily in his peripheral vision as she walked through the door. She was a library assistant who occasionally retrieved archival items for him, but he hadn’t asked for her help recently. He did not acknowledge her as she approached him, until she said, “I thought you’d be gone by now. I was just going to leave this on your desk.” The way she casually waved the sheets of paper around told Will that they were not anything important, so he nodded to indicate that she should set them on his desk anyway. 

“Since you’re here I guess I can just ask you. My dad works for the Children’s Hospital Foundation, and they’re having their annual charity ball next month, and usually there’s a boring thing where they auction off antiques and paintings and whatever to raise money, but they’re doing something new and different this year.” 

Will looked over the rims of his glasses at her, which communicated to her that she should get to the point, and also spared Will from having to make eye contact with her with clear vision. 

Emily took the hint. “It’s a bachelor auction,” she said, hastily and with less cheer. “Well, bachelor and bachelorette. I just thought you might want to, you know, lend your services.” 

“I’m not sure I understand.” Will returned some of his attention to his slideshow. “What services?” 

Emily bit her lip. “Being…one of the bachelors?” 

“I don’t think I’m cut out for that kind of work. Shouldn’t you be asking someone who might actually raise some money?” 

“Mister Graham, please. Surely people have told you that you’re very attractive.” 

“Not after being around me for five minutes.” 

“I think you’re selling yourself short. You’ve always been very nice to me, and you’re intelligent.” Will gave her another dubious look. She stammered a bit before trying a different approach. “Anyway, you’re not being auctioned into a relationship or anything. See, everyone will come with a ‘date package.’ The Foundation makes deals with local businesses, who donate vouchers for free dinners, wine tastings, stuff like that. Really the bidders are bidding on the date, not so much the person.” Realizing that what she’d just said might sound insulting, she quickly added, with a sly smile, “I just thought, you know, having some eye candy sweetens the deal.” 

Will looked even more affronted by the term “eye candy” than the implication that the date package would be more appealing than himself personally. 

“Look, if nothing else, think of it this way: you get two free dinners. First at the ball, because the bachelors and bachelorettes get theirs complimentary. For everyone else it’s five hundred a plate. And it’s at CCV. Super swanky. Then you get another freebie dinner when you go on the date. I mean, you can’t beat that, right?” 

Will held his hand out for the papers. Three sheets, paper-clipped together. On top was a form to fill out, and underneath that was a list of guidelines, then the details of the date packages. “And this is for who?” 

“The Children’s Hospital Foundation. Every year this charity ball alone raises around two hundred grand, sometimes two-fifty, and this year they’re putting it towards expanding the Transitional Care Unit at VCU.” 

Will shut his eyes, and both he and Emily were silent for half a minute. Finally, Will said, with his eyes still closed, “You’re in luck. You’ve caught me at a time when I am feeling particularly sympathetic towards children and their medical needs. What do I do, to be a part of this bachelor auction?” 

“You fill out this form,” Emily said, with more glee than any human being had ever expressed when uttering those five words, “and you pick which date package you want from the list, and put it at the bottom there, and then everything else you need to know is explained on that second page. It’s going to be super fun. I mean, it will all be very classy. No one’s going to make you take your shirt off onstage or anything. Sometimes they do that at these things. But this one is going to be very straight-laced. They might play a little music, but it’s black-tie.” 

“Does that include me?” 

“Um, yeah. That won’t be a problem, will it? I mean, you can just rent a tux.” 

“And what do I do when I’ve filled this out?”

“Just bring it back to me. I’ve handed out a few today, and I can get them back to the woman who’s coordinating it, she’s a friend of mine.” 

“Sounds good. Listen, I really want to finish up this slideshow so I can get home, but I promise I’ll look at it later.” 

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it! The ladies are gonna love you, I just know it.” 

“Uh-huh. Good night, Emily.” 

 

*****

 

At home several nights later, Will poured himself slightly more whiskey than was his habit in preparation for taking a closer look at the bachelor auction packet Emily had given him.

It was dark out, and the curtains were open. Will tipped his head back when he took a sip, and caught his reflection in the window. He set the glass down and regarded himself, thinking of the girls who used to chase him in high school and college. He was well aware that he had classical, conventionally attractive features, and his introversion appealed to girls, made them think he was deep or sensitive or something. But the blatant fawning he received from them always chafed him, overwhelmed him. That is, it did until those girls had a chance to get beyond his looks, to see the neurotic, abrasive boy behind those “soulful” eyes, at which point they decided he wasn’t so much of a catch after all. 

Since then, his attraction had rarely intersected with another person’s. He would collect the occasional overture, or offer one of his own, but in either case, save for a few, the recipient would be less than interested, and all concerned would move on. 

It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in having another try at it, but being auctioned off was not on his list of preferred methods. He stood by his decision, though, on the basis of it being a good cause, and Emily’s assurances that it would have a negligible impact on his life. 

He read the page with all the particulars first. The event itself seemed fairly straightforward: the emcee would introduce him, try to make him sound appealing (presumably), and then start the bidding. Afterward, he and the winning bidder would negotiate a day and time for their date to occur.

The questionnaire, it was explained, was to give the event’s emcee some fodder when he went on stage, but it would also be going up on the foundation’s website, so that bidders could consider their choices beforehand. He supposed that meant he would have to have his picture taken, as well. Ugh. 

He turned back to the questionnaire. In the blank spaces, he had to specify the following: _Height, Body Type, Occupation, In My Free Time, Fun Facts, Proud Achievements, What My Friends Say About Me_. 

He breezed through the _Height_ part. _Body Type_ required slightly more thought, but seeing as how there was nothing about him that would make him an outlier, he thought that writing “Average” had to be acceptable. 

As for _Occupation_ : he had no idea what sort of feelings “FBI Profiler” might inspire, one way or the other, so instead he put “Teacher.” 

He listed his _Free Time_ activities easily enough, although when he reviewed it, he realized that he had basically written “Activity for which I require silence and solitude, another activity for which I require silence and solitude, and one more activity for which I require silence and solitude.” But there was nothing to be done about that. 

_Fun Facts_. Oh, Jesus….although come to think of it, he actually did have one: “I have seven dogs.” A half-second of reflection made him feel like that sounded slightly weird. So instead he wrote: “I love to adopt dogs. Currently I have seven, and they’re all sweethearts.” The odd truth, couched in compassionate language. Well done. 

_Proud Achievements_? He was the first in his family to graduate from high school, let alone a university, though he could not imagine that that would increase his appeal to what would likely be a group of wealthy and educated bidders. And everything else he’d “achieved” was a blood-soaked nightmare. He scribbled something about the satisfaction of teaching such keen, promising students, and moved on. 

_What My Friends Say About Me_. Did Will have friends? Real friends, that is. He had plenty of colleagues who were friendly to him. What would Alana say about him? Best not think about that. What would Beverly say about him? He could ask her tomorrow, but that would mean revealing to her the reason for his asking. For some reason, just then, he thought back to that day in Minnesota, with Doctor Lecter in the hotel room. _The mongoose I want under my house when the snakes slither by_. 

Will put the pen on the paper, and a half a minute later, carefully wrote: “I’m steadfast, reliable, and good at what I do.” 

The last blank spot on the questionnaire was for specifying which of the date packages most appealed to him; the one he chose would apparently give the bidders a better idea about the sort of person he was. Will took a look at the details of the packages. There were some interesting itineraries – not at all interesting to him personally, that is, but he could see why others might be drawn to a tandem skydive, go-karts, or a roller derby match. There were blander packages, as well, though they also failed to appeal to him: a wine tasting, a paddleboat river cruise. 

The very last package had just a hint of charm: tickets to the Aquarium, followed by dinner for two at an upscale sushi restaurant. Will appreciated the comedic irony. He wrote “aquarium/sushi” in as his choice, and wondered if the person who had put the package together was like him, secretly harboring an impish sense of humor but having to express it sneakily because their life and the people in it were so bleak and dour.

 

*****

 

 

Will parked his shabby station wagon and walked past rows of Mercedes and BMWs to reach the Country Club of Virginia, a place he would never otherwise have been allowed to set foot in, and rightly so. By the time he reached the door he was already beyond uncomfortable. He cringed when he noticed that the invitation he’d handed the doorman was warped and damp at the corner where he’d been clutching it in his sweaty hand. The moment he was in the ballroom and saw a tray of champagne glasses going by, he snatched one up, and furtively took three aspirin with the first swig. 

The Country Club was typical colonial revival, the sort of sprawling estate familiar to anyone living on the eastern seaboard who had ever attended a wedding or a graduation. The ballroom was white woodwork and striped wallpaper in ivory and egg custard (or as Will thought of it, white and yellow). Through any window one might care to look out of, one would see the immaculate grounds, which betrayed not one hint that this world was full of misery and squalor. The elegant attendees milling about did no less to raise Will’s class-conscious hackles: those who actually had worked a day in their lives likely worked to make the rich richer and the poor poorer. 

It wasn’t long before a brunette in her early thirties in a chic black dress drew close to him. She looked elegant, but the way she approached Will told him immediately that she was single-and-looking. 

“Are you one of the bachelors?” she said. “I’m trying to meet them all before the auction.” 

“I am,” Will said, dipping his head in a way that could be interpreted as charming, but was just a way for him to keep his eyes on the ground. 

“I’m Sarah.” 

“Will.” 

“Nice to meet you, Will. So what’s in your package?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Your date package,” she giggled, waving her champagne glass to and fro. 

“Right. It’s uh, a pretty straightforward one. The Aquarium, and then dinner at Maruya.” 

Sarah nodded – politely. “Oh. Hm. Yeah, I’ve been to Maruya before. Well, it was nice meeting you, Will.” 

She pivoted slightly and wandered away from him, scanning the room all the while. Will was too relieved to be left alone to realize that he perhaps ought to have been offended. 

Hannibal Lecter did not draw Will’s attention to himself. He waited for Will to catch sight of him whilst he looked around wondering if and where it would be appropriate to sit. Will approached Hannibal’s table and slowly – in case someone was going to stop him – sat in the adjacent empty chair. “Doctor Lecter,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you this far from Baltimore.” 

“The Children’s Hospital Foundation is a worthy cause, and I have many former colleagues who are associated with it. I am surprised at your presence also.” 

Will’s face began to heat with embarrassment, when he realized that he would have to tell Hannibal why he was here. “I – someone at the Academy…asked me to be one of the, uh…” Will jerked his thumb in the direction of the temporary stage that had been erected at one end of the ballroom. 

“Are you one of the bachelors that’s up for auction?” 

Will raised his eyebrows and grinned awkwardly, looking down into his glass. “I certainly hope they’ve put me down for that, and not as one of the bachelorettes.” 

Hannibal smiled to acknowledge Will’s joke. “I wish you would have told me, so I could have had you fitted for a tuxedo, and spared you that rental.” 

“Is it that bad?” 

“It’s not the worst I’ve seen.” 

Will refused to do any more mingling – he’d found a familiar person, even if it wasn’t an ideal one, and he was determined to stick by Hannibal until the auction began. Even when some society wonk or other approached Hannibal and diverted his attention, Will stayed where he was, though he was faced with the occasional woman (and one hopeful man) who had him pegged for an auction item. Each one had some variation on the same line. “So tell me about your package.” “I want to hear about your package.” Always followed by a sly chuckle – _wasn’t what I said so droll and naughty?_ Will endured each inquiry with as much graciousness as he could muster; it was, after all, for charity, and no one would want to bid on a panicky misanthrope. 

When one of these potential bidders got up to continue mingling, Will turned back to see that Hannibal had been watching their exchange with amusement. He hoped to God that Hannibal had not witnessed the indignity of his being asked about his “package” for the tenth time. 

He said, “I know this doesn’t seem like my thing.” 

“I know that too,” Hannibal remarked. 

“But Emily told me that the money would be going to this cause, and…ugh, see, I’m not rolling in cash, myself, right? So I thought, this is a rare chance for me to help raise money for people who need it. I do wish there were more opportunities to funnel money from rich people to sick kids without having to, you know, be social, or leave the house.” Will lifted his glasses with his thumb and forefinger so he could rub at the bridge of his nose. 

“You’re doing very well,” Hannibal said. 

“I just hope that whoever bids on me just takes the package and goes with one of her girlfriends instead.” 

Moments later, a stately-looking middle-aged blonde approached their table. Will saw her coming, but Hannibal did not seem to notice her until she leaned down to put a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Hello, Doctor Lecter. Would I be intruding if I sat with you?” She was mainly looking at Hannibal as she said this, but Will caught her sneaking appraising looks at him. 

“Not at all.” Hannibal even stood up to pull the chair out for her. “Will, this is Doctor Angela Whitford. Angela, this is my friend Will Graham.” 

“Delighted.” Will noticed that when Hannibal said the words _my friend_ , her smile faltered. Nonetheless, she held her hand out to Will, who shook it faintly. “How long have you and Hannibal been…friends?” she asked. 

“Just a few weeks.” 

“Have you had his _gâteau aux foie de volaille_ yet?” 

Will assumed this was some sort of food. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” 

Angela playfully slapped Hannibal on the arm. “Hannibal! You must make that _gâteau_ for Will!” And then she leaned over to Will and said, in a stage whisper, “It’s to die for. However.” Now she pointed a finger accusingly at Hannibal. “Nothing you can cook could never make up for outbidding me on that Flemish hutch at last year’s auction.” 

“I was only thinking of the cause. The Foundation received an extra five thousand dollars because of my final bid.” 

“I suppose that’s true. But don’t pretend that you didn’t know what you were doing. You’ve been in my home. You know that hutch would have _completed_ my dining room. Sometimes I think you just get a kick out of rubbing it in people’s faces that you’re even more fabulously wealthy than they are.” 

Hannibal sipped his champagne. “It would never cross my mind to do such a thing.” 

Angela heaved a dramatic sigh, then seemed to immediately get over this wrong that was weighing on her, as she turned to Will and said cheerily, “So Will, what is it you do?” 

“I’m a teacher,” Will said, but could not elaborate, as just then the lights went down and a voice came over the PA, saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to begin our auction.” The owner of the voice strode onto the stage, a woman whom Will recognized from a billboard he’d seen that day. She was a local news anchor, Kelly…something. She prompted the audience into several rounds of lively but respectable applause as she introduced herself (ah, Kelly _McIntyre_ ) and rattled off some banal inquiries (“Is everyone ready to have some fun tonight? Are you excited to meet your bachelors and bachelorettes?”) 

“If you haven’t picked up your paddle yet,” Kelly said, “please see Geraldine, who’s at the table just outside the door here. And can we have the bachelors and bachelorettes come around to the side of the stage, please?” She gestured with exaggerated elegance to stage left. 

Will stood and smoothed down his jacket before proceeding to the stage. He joined a gaggle of excited men and women, relieved to see that he wasn’t the oldest, or the least attractive. But on top of that, he saw men and women far better looking than him acting far more nervous. It gave him a sliver of hope that his fears might be unfounded, and that while unpleasant for him, this might not be a complete debacle.

Angela’s eyes got wide as she watched Will walk away. “He’s one of the bachelors? I thought he was your boyfriend!” 

Hannibal chuckled. “No, no. I assure you, the only thing I have that you desire is that hutch.” 

Angela looked indignant but had no retort. 

On stage, Kelly was explaining how the auction would proceed, that they would alternate, bachelor, bachelorette, bachelor, and so on. There was an assistant at the side of the stage to nudge them around and make sure they did what they were supposed to do when they were supposed to do it. Will was having a difficult time concentrating on what Kelly was saying, but he could perceive the collective hoots and sly giggles coming from the audience, so he assumed it was mostly just filler, the sort of gentle innuendo that suited an event like this. 

When Kelly announced the first bachelor, the assistant already had him standing at the steps leading up to the stage. He walked into the spotlight to the sound of Yello’s “Oh Yeah” coming over the PA. There was more hooting and cheering from the women in the audience; it may have been a black-tie crowd, but there was no pretending that an auction like this was wholly dignified. 

Will watched carefully now, to see what he should expect to happen when he went on stage. Around him, the other bachelors and bachelorettes were chatting amongst themselves, pausing occasionally if the person up for auction was a friend, and cheering them on accordingly. 

It was not until the winning bid for the second bachelorette was called – a respectable eight hundred dollars – that it occurred to Will to do the math. If everyone could pull eight hundred, he thought, that would mean an extra eight thousand dollars for that Transitional Care Unit. Likely some individual donors had relieved their accounts of eight thousand dollars already for the cause, but it was unlikely that the hospital would scoff at such an amount. 

As the bachelorette made her way off the stage, the assistant found Will and led him to the bottom of the steps. “Wave and smile to everyone when you walk over,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “And don’t be nervous. Everyone’s having a fun time and you’ll do great.” 

Kelly asked the audience to “Please welcome our next bachelor, Will Graham!” Will managed to make it up the steps without tripping, despite his chagrin at the song they’d chosen to bring him up with: that record that was the bane of his existence as a radio listener at age fifteen, Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy.” At the moment, he was dripping under his arms and he couldn’t guarantee anyone that he wouldn’t throw up at some point in the next ten minutes; he did not feel sexy at all. 

As the music faded down, Kelly announced, “Will is thirty-eight years old, and my friend Emily tells me that he works for the F…B…I! Ooh, you know, he could tell you what he does there, but then he’d have to kill you, ha ha!” 

Will smiled politely with his teeth clenched hard, resisting the urge to say _That’s the CIA, not the FBI_. God, the lights were so bright up here. He was blinded and overheating, but at least that distracted him from his mortification. 

“Will likes to go fishing in his spare time, and he owns seven dogs.” At this, she made an exaggerated but entirely generic face to the audience that indicated surprised interest. “Do you adopt from shelters?” 

“Yep,” Will lied, because it was easier. 

“And what are their names? Do you know them right off the top of your head?” 

“Ah, there’s Winston, Buster, Maggie, Dee Dee, Major, Scooter, and Pepper.” He blushed when the whole audience favored him with an _awwwww_. 

“So Will,” she murmured coyly, and then in a sing-song voice said, “Describe your package for us.” Will smiled politely at all the giggling, acting like it wasn’t the hundredth time that night that he’d heard that question asked so mischievously. He wasn’t sure if he should be talking to the emcee, or to the crowd, so he slowly pivoted back and forth as he spoke, and addressed both. “It’s pretty straightforward. It’s um, the Aquarium, and then dinner at Maruya, which I’ve never been to, but I’ve heard it’s very nice, very classy.” 

Kelly leaned toward the audience and cooed excitedly, hinting that they should do the same, even though it was understood that his date package was not really worthy of an impressed _ooh_. “Well,” she said, “let’s start the bidding at one hundred. Ladies, do I have one hundred?” 

To Will’s surprise, when he looked out beyond the stage, into the darkness, he caught sight of the flitting of several bright-white paddles. “Do I have one fifty? Anybody in for two hundred. Two fifty? Do I have three hundred?...” Kelly was a decent bid caller. She pointed to acknowledge bidders as she continued, “…Somebody else, eight hundred, give me nine hundred ladies, nine hundred, a thousand, anybody in for one thousand one hundred, two hundred…” 

When the bidding reached one thousand five hundred, it started to slow, and Angela Whitford flicked her paddle upwards. The bidding on the bachelors was paced differently than the bidding on the bachelorettes. Men would bid enthusiastically at first but always quickly reached their ceiling, content to just try for the next one. For the bachelors, the bidding rose slower and steadier, because while each raised paddle drove the price higher and higher, it also made the other bidders think, _Maybe she knows something about this guy that I don’t_ , and this curiosity would prompt yet more bids. 

Hannibal had never attended an event of this nature before, but he could see exactly what was going on. He watched Angela’s determined bidding driving other women on, until Will’s price was well into the thousands. And it seemed, for a moment, that she would emerge triumphant. But as Kelly called out, “Going once,” the next paddle that went up was the one in Hannibal’s hand. 

When Angela saw this, she clenched her fist around her own paddle and growled, “Oh no, you don’t.” She raised hers again immediately, and Kelly happily continued her commentary of this new bidding war. All other contenders could only watch in awe as Angela and Hannibal, sitting right beside one another, pushed the bidding past the seven-thousand-dollar mark. 

From his place on the stage, all Will could see was two paddles flashing furiously back and forth. As his eyes adjusted to the dark void beyond the stage lights, he finally discerned who those paddles belonged to, and his knees turned to water. “Oh shit,” he whispered, though no one heard it. 

“Eight thousand five hundred….eight thousand six hundred…oh my goodness, what is going on with you two?” Kelly laughed and held her hand over her eyes to try to discern who was involved in the bidding war. “I see the lovely and talented Angela Whitford, and…is that Doctor Lecter?” She recovered immediately, though, not wanting to seem judgmental. “Well, don’t stop, by all means!” 

Each time Hannibal lifted his paddle, he could feel Angela’s rage intensify, which delighted him. And each time she bid, her determination not to be beaten grew, until it peaked around eight thousand three hundred. No doubt she was thinking of the mortgage on that French Country manse she was so proud of, and whether outbidding Hannibal for a scruffy man in a rented tuxedo was really how she wanted to take her revenge for that hutch. Now, as she continued to raise her paddle with increased reluctance, he raised his with coolness and conviction. 

“Nine thousand three hundred,” the emcee called. “Nine thousand four hundred. Nine thousand five hundred. Wow! Somebody for nine thousand six hundred?” 

Hannibal turned to look directly at Angela, with the mildest, most placid expression. She no longer appeared furious; now her expression said _Fine, take him. Enjoy your ninety-five-hundred-dollar dog-hair-covered boy-toy._

And Hannibal shot her a look right back that said _Don’t worry, I will_. 

“Last call. Going once at nine thousand five hundred, twice at nine thousand five hundred, and _sold_ , to number two seventy four, Doctor Hannibal Lecter!” 

Will’s stomach plummeted. It was only with guidance from Kelly, and then the assistant, that he was able to get off the stage. Everyone he passed drew close to slap him on the back, ”What’s your secret?” they said. “Congratulations!” “Tell Doctor Lecter I said ‘Good catch!’” 

“Where’s the restroom?” he asked one of the other bachelors, who pointed straight ahead, then to the right. 

As Will walked, he muttered to himself, _He just had to outbid that woman, that’s all. It’s got nothing to do with me_. _He walked in knowing he was going to part with ten thousand dollars tonight one way or another, he just wanted to be a show-off about it_. _That’s all. That’s all_. 

There was no one else in the men’s room. He paced back and forth a few times, unable to think of how to deal with what had just happened, wondering how long he could hide in here before his absence would prompt suspicion. He felt like he’d been struck by lightning, his skin crawling and muscles wobbling from his scalp to his toes. 

God, he was sweating so badly. He must _reek_. He took off his jacket, ashamed to look in the mirror and see his stained, soaking shirt. He twisted the nozzle on the hand-dryer and lifted his arm over it, hoping no one would wander in and see him drying his armpits like he was Madonna in _Desperately Seeking Susan_. As he stood there, he tried to psych himself up to return to the ballroom. “The longer you wait to go back out,” he said aloud, “the longer it will be before you learn that this was just a harmless stunt, that he doesn’t actually want to go on a date with you. So just go back out there. Just go. Just go. Just fucking go.” But all he did was pivot and lift his other arm. 

A tipsy, gregarious voice outside the door made him jump away from the dryer and scrabble to get his jacket back on. A man stepped in, one of those types who looked like he’d been a star athlete twenty years ago, in high school. Seeing who he was there with, he smacked Will on the back. “Hey, how’s it going, buddy! Congratulations, huh?” The man then proceeded to the urinal, and said nothing more to Will. Finally compelled by the desire to _not_ be standing around uselessly while a man six feet away was taking a piss, Will stumbled out the door and back to the ballroom. 

And Hannibal was _right there_. Not in the ballroom, where Will had expected him to be. In fact, in his determination to return, Will nearly ran right over him. 

“Jesus. I, ah, didn’t expect you to be standing there.” 

“Are you feeling alright?” Hannibal asked. 

“Fine, I feel fine. Why shouldn’t I be, I…yeah, fine.” 

“The auction will be finished soon, and then they will serve dinner. Will you stay?” 

“Uh…” It was only then that Will realized that he was _starving_. “I could stay, sure.” 

They walked slowly back toward the ballroom, making it about twenty steps before Will blurted out, “You’re not gonna say anything about what just happened?” 

Hannibal stopped in his tracks and turned to face Will. “What would you like me to say about it?” 

Will smiled uneasily and pushed his hand through his hair. “You have to admit it was a little out of nowhere.” He took a step away from Hannibal, but then another back in his direction, so he could keep his voice low. “I mean, I understand that these auctions are more about the activities than the person, but I’m just, uh, having a hard time believing that you are that desperate to visit the Aquarium and a sushi restaurant.” 

Hannibal reached out to gently grasp Will’s shoulder, his eyes smiling. He drew close and whispered to him, “Oh, Will, do you really think that I’m only interested in your package?” 

This time, for once, Will genuinely laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> berlynn-wohl.tumblr for more of this sort of nonsense.


End file.
